


By Any Other Name

by ChibiRHM



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiRHM/pseuds/ChibiRHM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So ‘Zhenya’ is a private name. It’s something Sid says to wake Geno up late at night when he’s half-asleep on the couch and needs to be cajoled to bed. It’s something Sid calls him first thing in the morning when Geno's made him breakfast instead of letting Sid eat his sad granola another day. It’s the name Sid whispers when he hugs Geno after a win and tells him he’s proud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> For Puckling, who got me into this stupid fandom in the first place, then made me fall in desperate love with Evgeni Malkin, Greatest Human Being, then linked me to [this interview](http://marina.dreamwidth.org/1260908.html), which I emote messily over on a near-daily basis, and then, when I said "I kind of want fic where Sid calls Geno 'Zhenya' and he gets all mushy over it" went "WRITE IT" even though I'm already writing a giant ridiculous fic for her about Sidney Crosby's Big Gay Feelings. Also, I would like her to note that I didn't call this "What's In A Name", so even though what I chose is remarkably similar, I have the moral victory, here.
> 
> Giant thanks to Dana, for the beta and un-confusing my pronouns and I thinking I was funny when I said "you know, I feel like this fic is like one of my gerbils - it's tiny and adorable and sweet, but also stupid and full of poo". This remains true in spite of her.

The first time Sid says it, Geno actually doesn't know what he's saying. To be fair, Sid had just given him a pretty spectacular blowjob, and he couldn’t really tell what language Sid was speaking between the mumbling and the orgasm. But then Sid repeats himself again, louder, and Geno blinks at him.

"Are you trying to call me 'Zhenya'?" he asks, and Sid turns bright pink and gets that stubborn set to his jaw that says he knows he’s done something wrong, and isn't willing to accept less than perfection.

"No," Sid whines, and he sounds so cute, like such a cranky little kid, that Geno has to roll over and kiss him.

"Sid-ney," he sing-songs, pressing kisses in the spots under Sid's jaw where he knows it makes Sid all weak and shivery.

"Well, all the Russians call you that," Sid says, like he’s trying to hold onto being grumpy, but he relaxes slowly the more Geno kisses him and runs his hands up and down Sid’s sides.

"You are not Russian," Geno points out, pulling back and smacking a kiss on Sid's nose, because it always makes him crinkle it and smile, charmed against his will. "Is okay. I like you calling me ‘Geno’ just fine."

"Is that your way of telling me I'm saying it wrong?"

"Very wrong," Geno agrees. "Is okay. Like I said, you are not Russian."

"You can teach me," Sid says, just like when he'd insisted on learning a few basic phrases to suck up to Geno's parents. His accent is terrible, thicker that Geno's is in English, but Geno's mom had looked really touched the first time Sid thanked her in halting Russian for cooking for them, so maybe there's something to it.

"Why do you need to learn?" Geno asks, curious, and Sid turns bright pink again and avoids Geno's eyes, which is... interesting.

"I, um, might be a little jealous?" Sid asks the ceiling. "That people have a nickname that makes you happy? And I can't use it?" Geno's really glad Sid's looking at the ceiling, actually, because he’s sure the expression on his face is probably pretty embarrassing, if the amount of sheer, stupid adoration he's feeling brewing hot and happy in the pit of his stomach is anything to go by.

"Okay, we work on it," he concedes, like he doesn't always concede everything to Sid just to see the giant, face-splitting smile he fell so in love with in the first place. He has to close his eyes and kiss Sid before he promises him something even more ridiculous, and judging by the way Sid moans into the kiss and rolls on top of him, he's ready to go for round two and forget about nicknames for a while, which is just fine with Geno.

\- - -

Sid drops it for a few days, which Geno decides, or maybe hopes, means that Sid's forgotten about it. He’s pretty much forgotten about everything but hockey. They've got a hard slog of home games coming, and Sid's gone into one of his perfectionist fits, staying late at the rink for extra practice and blocking out the rest of the world, including Geno. And Geno knows he should be mad, probably, that he’s barely seen Sid outside of practice for half a week, but mostly he’s just fondly resigned. This is Sidney Crosby, and Geno always knew this is what dating him would mean, long before he even knew he wanted to be the one doing it.

Still, it doesn’t mean he can’t nag, at least a little. He figures that’s sort of what being a good boyfriend is.

"You work too hard, you burn out," Geno yells from the bench, resting his elbows on the rink wall and watching as Sid methodically works through forehand and backhand shots at every angle physically possible on the net before moving back another few feet and starting all over again. "You look fine. You look great."

"Not great enough," Sid says, slapping the puck hard enough that the net rocks dangerously before settling again. "I haven't scored in the last four games."

"Two assists not enough anymore?" Sid's glare is a pretty clear answer, but he skates over when beckoned and begrudgingly leans down when Geno tugs at his practice jersey for a kiss. "Come over," Geno wheedles. "I make you dinner. Jeffrey misses you."

"Don't bring your dog into this."

"Fine, so _I_ miss you."

"Zhenya..." Ah, Geno smiles. There it is. Of course Sid uses the nickname again just to get what he wants - he’s smart. It’s one of the things Geno likes about him.

"You are getting better," he says, because it's true. Sid's clearly been practicing his accent. He bets if he got his hands on Sid's laptop, he'd find youtube clips with how-to guides in the browser history. Sid still says 'Zhenya' with too many syllables, slowly, like he's not sure he's getting it right. It's all terribly, horribly adorable.

"I'm gonna get better at this, too," Sid says stubbornly. He gives Geno one long, lingering kiss, like it makes up for staying late, reaching up to tease the short hairs at the base of Geno's neck the way Geno likes. That pushes the kiss over the border to cruel, because Geno hasn’t gotten laid in four days (not that he’s counting), so he’s not ashamed of making a bereft little moaning noise when Sid pulls away.

"You are a bad man," he tells Sid. "And you are lucky I am in love with you and you are so good-looking, otherwise I would be very angry right now." Sid just laughs.

"Say hi to Jeffrey for me," he shouts, skating away, like he knows Geno's going to listen to him just because he's the Captain and he called Geno _Zhenya_ and is cute. And the worst part is that he's right, because Geno does leave, go home alone, and tell Jeffrey that Sid says hi.

Jeffrey seems unimpressed, bordering on judgmental, and then goes back to licking his own crotch. But he's a dog, so what does he know, anyway.

\- - -

Sid mostly only calls him ‘Zhenya’ when they're in private, which is good, because Sid slips up and uses once in practice and Geno skates around with such a stupid expression that Jordy asks him three different times whether he's concussed before he figures out what Geno’s smiling at and rolls his eyes.

“You know I’ve got nothing against you two doing your thing,” he says, gesturing between them with his hockey stick, “I’m just saying, there’s a reason people have a problem with gay dudes playing hockey, and it’s this touchy-feeling shit right here.”

“Shut up, Jordy,” Sid barks, but his helmet is off and the tips of his ears are bright pink, which doesn’t do much either for his gravitas or for Geno’s ability to stop smiling at him like an idiot.

“No, I think it’s cute,” Jordy says, grinning like the little shit he is. “It’s nice to see that the romance hasn’t gone out of your relationship after all this time. It’s an inspiration to the rest of us.”

Sid’s clearly more amused than angry, but he’s also turning progressively pinker, so Geno grabs Jordy in a headlock and wrestles him to the ice until he gives. It takes about five seconds. Jordy’s pretty weak.

So ‘Zhenya’ is a private name. It’s something Sid says to wake Geno up late at night when he’s half-asleep on the couch and needs to be cajoled to bed. It’s something Sid calls him first thing in the morning when Geno's made him breakfast instead of letting Sid eat his sad granola another day. It’s the name Sid whispers when he hugs Geno after a win and tells him he’s proud. Sid says it the way Sergei used to call his wife and daughter his angels when he kissed them before roadtrips, or the way Duper murmurs in French to his wife late at night on long bus rides, strings of lilting words that sound like poetry and make his face go soft. ‘Zhenya’, when Sid says it, means home and love in a way he didn’t know he was missing until Sid started using the name, the kind of love that makes Russia and all of his friends and family feel less far away when he doesn’t have time to Skype or text them back, the kind of love that anchors him and makes him feel more like this is somewhere he belongs.

"You let that boy say your name all wrong," his mother berates when his parents come for a visit. She always calls Sid 'that boy' when she wants to gossip about him in Russian but doesn't want Sid to catch on to his name. "I like him, but his Russian is terrible."

"You get along just fine, anyway," Geno tells her, drying the dishes and putting them away as she finishes. She just spent the afternoon teaching Sid how to make all of Geno's favorite foods through a mixture of pointing, miming, and shouting for Geno when she needed a translation. There’s a stack of notecards on the counter where Sid's written down in his blocky, precise handwriting exactly what to do, like Geno's mom is going to come back and test him, see whether he puts too much flour in the pelmeni dough or not enough sugar in the blackberry sauce for blintzes. As though either of them have time to make pelmeni or blintzes.

"I like anyone who loves my baby so much."

" _Mama_ ," Geno groans, blushing, and his mother tuts, drying her hands so she can turn his cheek to look at her.

"I'm a mother, Zhenya. I know what it means when a boy spends all day with me learning how to cook for you when he barely speaks a word of Russian. And I know what it means when you look at him like you do, like the sun rises and sets on him."

"It's not _that_ bad," Geno says uncomfortably, even though it is, because Sid's been his entire world for years, and he doesn't know how to change that. He doesn't really want to, either, but it’s embarrassing to have his mother shaking her head and laughing at him.

"So much love in you," she sighs, standing on her tiptoes and kissing his forehead. It makes Geno remember when he was seven, and how he'd plucked flowers from every garden on his way home from school so his mother would have something pretty for her birthday. She'd said the same thing and kissed him the same way, arranging all the wilted blooms in a vase like they were the finest roses from the best florist in town. He still feels just as small and clumsy as he did then, just as unsure of how to deal with that feeling of caring about someone so much that any gesture he makes barely relieves the suffocating need to do _anything_ to make them happy. He still wonders if he is special, like his mother says, or if this is how everyone is, if everyone walks around only looking calm on the surface while inside they're screaming with feelings that they don't know how to voice in any language.

He lets his mother kick him out of the kitchen, even though it's technically his kitchen, not hers, because he just really wants Sid, right then. Geno finds him in the living room, flipping through an old issue of _Sports Illustrated_ and petting Dixi, who’s curled up asleep next to him. Sid doesn't look up when Geno shoos Dixi off the couch or when he takes her place, he just automatically lifts his arm for Geno to crawl under and then begins stroking Geno's hair, like he never even noticed a difference. “Something wrong?” he asks, bending down a page corner to mark his place and tossing aside the magazine.

“No,” Geno says, and then, because even a lie of omission feels like lying to Sid, “My mother was asking why I let you call me ‘Zhenya’.”

“Why you let me say it wrong, you mean,” Sid corrects, and Geno shifts uncomfortably. He didn’t know Sid noticed that. It’s not like he purposefully told Sid to do the wrong thing, he just... stopped pointing it out if Sid messed up. “Why don’t you correct me?” Sid asks quietly.

“Would you try and fix my accent?” Geno asks, and Sid looks at him for a moment with so much exasperation mixed with pure, unguarded adoration that Geno feels lit up with it.

“That’s not even the same thing,” Sid says eventually. “You’re trying to distract me so you don’t have to answer the question.”

Geno tilts his chin up to kiss Sid’s neck instead of answering. He doesn’t quite know the answer himself, besides that he can’t deny Sid anything, and that the way Sid says “Zhenya” is somehow that perfect blend of Canadian and American and Russian that makes it feel like it’s something brand new. So instead he says, “Maybe later. Turn on the Habs game.”

Sid grumbles but does what he’s told before he sinks into the couch with an absent kiss to the top of Geno’s head. And when Geno closes his eyes to Sid’s solid, warm weight against him and the sounds of hockey and the smells of his mother’s cooking, it feels perfect, like home.


End file.
